


in the arms of a hurricane

by Spineless



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Introspection, Pining, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:23:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spineless/pseuds/Spineless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She misses Finn like a phantom limb. Training to be a Jedi is not easy; she experiences so many new things so quickly, she wishes she could share them with him.</p>
<p>Like rain. </p>
<p>Oh, rain. </p>
<p>She never knew that so much water could come from the sky. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought the world was ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the arms of a hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this beautiful [tumblr post](http://skywalkerd.tumblr.com/post/136329162928/imagine-rey-seeing-rain-for-the-first-time-like)
> 
> thank you for reading!! comments & feedback are much appreciated.

Becoming a Jedi is hard work. 

It takes a lot of physical effort, which a distant part of her expected, Jedi Knights being warriors of old, but she had no way of knowing that becoming a Jedi would entail climbing so many stairs. Or running so many laps. Or having to stand in one very specific position for what feels like hours at a time. But the physical, visceral parts of training do not phase her, not really, because being a scavenger on a desert planet has left her lean and fit, with hard muscle cording her arms, legs, and torso. She keeps up with ease, and collapses onto her bedroll at the end of the day feeling exhaustion in her bones, but a satisfying sort. 

Spiritual training is a hell of another ride. 

There are times where finding the Force is as easy as breathing in. The feeling reminds her of digging bare feet into sand dunes on Jakku. It reminds her of being enveloped in someone’s arms for the first time. It reminds her of breathing out after holding a breath for a long time. Yet other times she feels as if she is skidding on ice, destined to spiral out of control, to crash, to shatter. And sometimes, there is nothing at all. No push or pull or great consuming energy to drive her to her knees or to bring her back. The inconsistency is frustrating. It is infuriating.

Master Luke calls her stubborn. He tells her to have patience. 

She tells him she’s trying. He tells her to stop trying and _do_.

Luke Skywalker isn’t the first figure of legend she’s met, but he’s the most mysterious one. The stories of Han Solo speak of his charm and recklessness, the tales of Leia Organa speak of her strength and steadfastness, but the myths of Luke Skywalker are varied; they treat him like a god. 

The first thing he said to her, when they met upon the hill not long ago, was “You are older than the others.”

He doesn’t talk a lot. Well, he talks. He tells her to be patient. He tells her to _concentrate_. He teaches her about the Force in mystic fragments. Yet he remains silent whenever Rey tries to ask about the past, or why he ran away, or if he’s heard anything from the Resistance. He meets these questions with a silent, steel-eyed stare. 

She is frustrated. But she tries to have patience. She has to have patience. 

She misses Finn like a phantom limb. She’ll find herself turning as if to speak some sort of dry-humored comment, to share a glance of incredulity or irritation, and find no one there beside her. So briefly had they been together, yet he had quickly become familiar, like he had been by her side for an age. His absence makes her realize what it truly means to miss someone. She never missed her family, the people or person who left her on Jakku, not really. She had been yearning for the opportunity of belonging. She was waiting for someone to rescue her from her arid existence. She should have realized early on that no one was ever going to come back for her.

But hope is a dangerous thing, especially when it is the _only_ thing. 

She hopes Finn is alright. She hopes that he’s healing well, that his injuries prove uncomplicated. She hopes that she’ll get to see him again. 

She has to see him again.

Sometimes, late at night, when she dangles on the boundary between sleep and wakefulness, she can feel something brush against the edges of her consciousness. Another consciousness, perhaps. She knows, in some deep abstract way, that it’s him. Sometimes it is enough to stem the worry that stews in her gut. But sometimes it ignites a feeling of which she has no words. She has felt so many alien feelings, experienced so many alien experiences, in such a short time. And so had Finn. She misses having someone with which to partake in these shared occurrences. 

The first time that it rains on the island, only a few days after she becomes Master Luke’s apprentice, she thinks they’re under attack. The drops on the roof and sides of the small hut they share sound like the steady stomp of a legion of troopers marching across the land. Fear makes her stomach climb her throat because _no, please, no_ , if the First Order was here that means that they had found the Resistance, it meant that they had found Commander Organa, it meant that they had found _Finn_ ––

She springs from where she had been sleeping, grogginess vaporized in less than an instant. Master Luke looks up at her from his seat on the floor with mild surprise, a steaming cup held loosely in his grasp. He is not poised and ready to fight, his face not set with grim determination, or fear, or anything like that. 

And, in a second instant, she remembers where else she’s heard the sound before:

A brief desert shower, clanging gently on the outside of her downed mechanic hovel. 

This is rain, she realizes.

But she has never heard rain like this before.

Eyes still wide, heart still hammering in her chest, she moves cautiously to the hut entrance. Without a glance behind to her Master, she throws the door open. 

The ocean is attempting to replicate itself on land. The noise is even louder with the open door. Not like a legion marching. A whole army. 

Rey has never seen this much water falling from the sky in her entire life. On Jakku, water was precious. The planet had few oceans and lakes on its surface and while there was some groundwater that could be mined, for the most part water had to be harvested straight from the atmosphere, and it wasn’t like there was much moisture to contend with in the first place. Rains were light and brief, if one could call what transpired on that planet “rain” at all, especially compared to _this_. 

She reaches her hand past the threshold, splayed as if attempting to grasp at the precipitation. Her cuff is soaked through within seconds, the rain cool against her palm and wrist as it runs in rivulets off her fingertips. 

If she didn’t know better, she might have thought the world was ending. But it wasn’t a bloody violent end, or a fiery one, wrought in destruction, it was a suitable end, like the universe sighing and closing its eyes after a long, long time. 

She realizes very suddenly how she must look, gaping at the rain through the open door, letting the water inside all over the floor. Not very dignified or Jedi-like at all. Her lip caught between her teeth, she withdraws her hand and looks back over her shoulder. Master Luke has risen to his feet, cup abandoned. He does not look at her with disgust or anger, mouth set and ready to deliver admonishment. His blue eyes, usually stern and sharp and just a touch cold, have softened. His mouth slips into the semblance of a smile and it is like Rey is seeing two people at once: the legendary, mythological Luke Skywalker, her Master who teaches with a firm hand, and a young Jedi, a boy from a corner of the galaxy wrought in isolation like her own. His smile broadening, he inclines his towards towards the still-open door, towards the rain outside. 

Rey finds herself wearing a similar smile, lips curving of their own accord. She turns back completely and takes his hand, calloused and rough and scarred, in hers. The pair escape through the door and are greeted by the rain’s embrace. A shriek of joy is immediately torn from Rey’s mouth and she laughs, arms stretching upwards, reaching past the clouds, past the atmosphere and moons and starships and satellites and past the black vacuum of space itself. She jumps as if to get closer, if only for a second.

Luke watches her, a knowing expression painted on his rain-soaked face.

After all that she has done and seen and felt and been over the last few weeks, nothing compares to the feeling of water drenching her clothes, her hair, her skin. In the downpour, she is born anew. 


End file.
